


I Will Follow You Into The Dark

by Scopareilmondo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:25:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scopareilmondo/pseuds/Scopareilmondo





	I Will Follow You Into The Dark

John hadn't anticipated how cold it was, up on the rooftop of St. Bart's. He pulled his coat closer around himself as he stepped up onto the ledge, staring down at the pavement beneath him, trying not to focus on the people who scurried around on the street. When he had woken up that morning, he hadn't planned on going to the place he had seen his best friend die. He didn't plan on spending the day limping around London, saying a silent farewell to all of the places he had visited with Sherlock. He didn't plan on calling everyone who had cared for him, and telling them that he was sorry he had been such a pain for the past three years. Most of all, he didn't plan on killing himself, but plans change, just as his life had when he had met Sherlock.

 He had made him forget all of the pain and suffering he had witnessed in Afghanistan, he had cured him of his insecurities and he had made the world beautiful. There was never a dull moment with Sherlock, John could never put money on where he would find himself the next day, what new case would devour Sherlock's attention and send both of their lives spiralling into chaos. Now he was gone, life was in grey scale again. Everything was exquisitely boring, painfully mundane.

 He pulled his phone out of his pocket, carefully scrolling to the messages, taking his time. He couldn't rush this; it had to be perfect. He typed in the number that was burnt into his memory, impossible for him to forget, no matter how hard he tried. Pausing for thought, he noticed a fading poster, the edges peeling away and flapping in the wind. The text read “I believe in Sherlock Holmes”. Bitter laughter escaped John's lips as the first of the tears fell, rolling through the lines of sadness that had been etched into his face before finally resting on his chapped lips.

 Slowly, he turned his attention back to the phone clutched in his shaking hands, and started to type, deliberately pressing each key with unnecessary force.

**Three years, Sherlock. I've been waiting for you for three years, now, and I can't hold on any longer. Have you seen the posters? Of course you have. Well, I believe in you, love. See you soon.**

**-JW**

 He stuffed his phone back in his pocket, and closed his eyes against brash light the sunset cast over London. As he spread his arms, the taut fabric of his jacket stretching across his shoulder blades, he got the briefest sensation of what Sherlock must have been feeling the day he decided to jump, the day he decided to leave John behind. He felt so thin, so frail, but so powerful, like he had the entire world balled up in his palms. Despite the power he felt surging through his veins, which he knew was really adrenaline in disguise, he felt weak. He felt like someone could tear him in half, as if he were a sheet of paper. He wouldn't object – he had nothing to live for now, anyway. He couldn't get his head around how Sherlock; his beautiful, clever, obnoxious Sherlock, had felt like this. He had no reason to feel so alone, or so broken.

 He numbly noticed that his phone was buzzing in his pocket, but refused to acknowledge it. He had made his decision, and he set it in stone as he gently leaned forwards, and went tumbling off of the ledge. The air pulled at his jacket and his hair, as he plummeted toward the pavement, which looked even more inviting the longer he fell. Every second felt like an hour, the entire world slipping into ridiculously slow motion. John longed for the welcoming embrace of the concrete beneath him, and when he finally reached it, the warmth of the darkness that swiftly enveloped him was accepted graciously.

* * *

 

A crowd formed around John's broken body almost instantly, terrified onlookers drawn in by the promise of a good story to tell their friends when they got back home. Amongst the chaos of the crowd, nobody noticed the tall, pale man. He made quite sure they didn't. They didn't pay him any attention as he slid his slender fingers into the dead man's pockets, pulling out the phone and silently scrolling to the messages, allowing himself to be pulled about by the crowd, drawn backwards and forwards with the waves of people. His fingers found the latest text the dead man had received and opened it, allowing it to linger on the fractured screen for a few seconds.

**I believe in John Watson.**

**-SH**

 He swiftly made his way through the menus, deleting the message and carefully replacing the phone in the man's pocket when the next surge of people pushed him closer, before making his escape, no longer able to bear looking at the body of what used to be his best friend.

 The solitary tear that ran down his cheek was the first he had shed in years.


End file.
